“That might make it worse. Doesn’t she know what I did last year? Didn’t Clay tell her?”
I snort. “Clay does not talk to my mom about that stuff. When he calls, it’s all about her. He has made an art out of strategically avoiding any personal questions with her. He worries about her.”
“You would really want me there?” he asks.
I nod. “Maybe next year. We have a lifetime of them, right?”
He kisses me. “A whole lifetime of awkward holiday dinners with family. I promise.”
It’s a promise I’ll hold on to because I want that.
I want him.
Forever.
* * *
The conversation with Cora has been nagging me all night. After staying over at her place, I knew that I wanted to do whatever I could to ease her worries.
So I called my mom.
“Hey, baby. You’re calling awfully early. Is something wrong?”
There’s something about hearing your mom’s voice that can bring you back to being seven years old again. I want to confide everything in her.
“I met someone,” I admit.
“Oh, that’s lovely.” Her tone says she’s not engaged in the conversation.
I don’t blame her. She’s gotten this call many times. This is different, though.
“Not like the others, Mom. I think this one is the one.”
“Big words. Are you sure you mean them?”
The statement hits me where she meant it. Do I really mean it?
I do.
“She’s been helping me get over my shit and grow up. I talked to Grace and Clay. Cleared the air. I think we are even friends.”
If it weren’t for the sound of the TV playing in the background, I would think the call dropped with how quiet she is as what I said sinks in.
“Wow. That is some growth. It’s all because of this girl?” Mom asks.
“No. That wouldn’t be fair to say. I think that I was getting there on my own before I met her. She helped speed up the process. Gave me a reason to stop moping around and get back on track.”
“You do sound happier. If everything is going well, why are you calling me now? Not that I don’t love you, but you have only ever called when you needed something since you left.”
Fuck. She’s not wrong. Just another way I’m a selfish asshole.
“I’m so sorry, Mom. I need to be a better son. You’re the best mom a guy could ask for, and I don’t appreciate you nearly enough. I’m going to start calling more,” I tell her, rubbing my hand down my face.
What started as a call to help ease Cora’s worries made me realize there are still more people who deserve an apology.
“Oh, stop it. That’s not what I meant. You’re a young man. You have hockey and school. It’s part of being a college kid to run off and enjoy yourself. I’m not bothered by it.”
“You should be,” I groan. “I have been such a selfish jerk. I wish you had called me out on it more.”
